


Maybe she left.

by Tundroid



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, Language, Pre-Avengers (2012), Sad, Swearing, What happens when she leaves, Your her girlfriend, friend clint barton, idk how to tag, where does miss Natasha Romanoff go in the morning?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-06-05
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:32:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tundroid/pseuds/Tundroid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nat leaves, and theres always the doubt, but she always comes back. No matter how long it takes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

You pretended that you were peacefully laying in bed, even as you heard your girlfriend slowly sliding out of the sheets. There was a hope in your mind that maybe this time she was just going to use the bathroom, maybe she had just forgotten something in the other room and went to go get it. 

You pretended you weren’t disappointed when you heard her pants sliding over her legs, and the clicking on the floor telling you that she had put her shoes back on. 

You also pretended those weren’t tears welling in your eyes as you heard the click of the door, telling you that she had once again left. 

You still had no idea why it made you so upset that she always left, it wasn’t as if you had any sort of hold on her. Natasha always remained a mystery to you, even after spending six months together as a couple. Maybe it was the doubt that one day she wouldn’t return, that the occasional days of not hearing of her would turn into forever. And then you would be left like you started, alone. 

Maybe if she didn’t come back, you would get yourself a cat. Something to keep you company. Nat was always recommending you to get something to keep you company, always commenting on how alone you must be. But you weren’t. She was always there for you, always turning up out of no where to help you. You knew this, so the question still remained, why were you so upset?

Was it concern? Concern about her and the bruises she returned with whenever she left? Bruises that you know weren’t there before? Sitting up, you looked over to the clock. 

4:30. 

Just like yesterday. And the day before that. Nat never had an alarm to wake her, yet it was always at this hour she awoke. 

Then left. 

Heaving out a sigh, you pushed yourself out of bed, deciding today you would get an early start to your day. Its not like you could ever go back to sleep without her there. 

Now you sat at your kitchen counter, sipping at the cheep coffee you bought at the store on the corner. She would be returning in a couple hours, like she normally did. 


	2. Chapter 2

It's been a week, not a word.

Maybe she finally had enough? Maybe the movies you watched together were never the ones she liked, or maybe she lied about how clean your apartment was. Was the food you made too dry? Perhaps it didn't taste good enough. Or maybe it was you. Could it be you yourself who made her want to leave? Maybe that morning, she woke up and didn't recognize the person she was looking at, so got up and left. 

Who knows how Natasha thought. She was her own person, and its not as if you ever tired to stop her from leaving. Maybe it was you, never really showing any care about where she went or what happened. There could be another girl that Nat was after now, one who would be happy around her, and always be concerned about what happened. 

Right now you were looking out the window, on to the awfully dull grey city. Or maybe it was just your mood that made everything so grey, because the bright purple door down the street just looked like a dark shade. Walking over to the bathroom, you stared into the face looking back at you. Her eyes looked kind of dull, or maybe it was the lighting. Asides from the eyes, she just looked so tired. Not exhausted, just tired. Walking back out, you decided to try and hold on to this day for once, instead of just letting them go. 

Throwing on a jacket, and the shoes Nat would so often tell you to replace because they were getting worn out. You never said anything in response to that, only giving a slight shrug as if to say it was okay. You opened your front door, leading to the hallway with a flickering light in need of replacement. If this wasn't your home, this would of seemed like some hallway in a horror movie. You could hear the sound of your shoes rub against the cheep carpet as you made your way to the elevator, as well as the ding telling you that the door was about to open. 

The metal room was empty, no neighbour asking you where that red head of yours was, and no people taunting you about how little you spoke. You walked in, hitting the button that would lead you to the world outside your room. This wasn't something you exclusively did with Nat, you went outside plenty on your own. It was just the last few months that you hadn't, and you really didn't know what kept you back. Maybe it was the look on her face whenever you mentioned you were going to go out, and her always wanting to escort you. It wasn't as if you were in any danger than anyone else. You wondered if she really cared about you when she said this, or if she was just trying to leave the dingy apartment you had. 

It didn't matter anymore, Nat wasn't around to stop you. Or maybe she should of been, because at least you wouldn't have to face the world alone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah theres some language in this one, so be warneeddddd.

Today kind of sucked. 

Going outside was easy, but navigating your way through the busy streets was hell, especially when you had no place in mind to go to. You simply just started walking, hoping you feel would guide you away. Nothing out of the ordinary, everything seemed so normal. At this point you realized that no matter how much you're hurting or in pain, the world isn't going to care. You never knew why you thought it did. 

There were men in suits, hailing for a cab, women with children who looked like they were rushing to get somewhere. There was teenage boys looking like douches, and powerful women whom everyone stepped aside to let go. You silently observed everyone in range, yet you found yourself looking more towards the vibrant or dull colours of people's hair. Were you hoping maybe you could catch a glimpse of Nat's crimson red locks? Or possibly her smooth yet sharp face. Maybe that body that seemed to poses and endless amount of beauty and curves... Not that her body mattered. 

There were a couple redheads here and there, but you couldn't even place the false hope in yourself that one of them was her. You knew what Natasha was about, how she walked, how she looked, the shade of her hair, it sounded obsessive, but how could you not notice such. She seemed so different from everyone, yet blended in so well. 

Like a spider. 

Somewhere throughout all your thinking, you had stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Some tried to dodge you, but the man following in pursuit behind you hadn't known that you stopped, probably looking at his phone, and before you knew it the two of you went tumbling down. 

"What the fuck!" The man shouted, obviously startled. You didn't make any noise in response. There was a pain in your knees, and you knew that the skin had broken. Now you wished Natasha was here, whenever you tripped or fell she was always there to pull you back up. Maybe she would come out of the crowd, like in one of those stupid romance books, here to save you from your day. 

"Did you not fucking hear me?" The mans voice pulled your attention in. He must of said something before that you missed, but by the looks of it he was pissed. 

All you could do was look up at him, you didn't know how to respond. He was already up off the ground, his expensive looking suit having several tears in it. You expected people to crowd around you, the man's voice probably booming throughout the block, but no one did. Everyone kept walking, as if nothing was happening.

"Of course you didn't. Fucking whores never paying any attention to a god damn thing!" The man spat at you. You wanted to roll your eyes at him, but you knew better. He was obviously some dude who thought so highly of himself, and you didn't doubt that he was willing to harm you in some way. This damn city and its misogynistic and power-hungry people. 

"Why the fuck did you trip me? Who the hell stops in the middle of a street when they know important people have places to be! Thanks to you little ass, I'm going to be late for my damn meeting!" he continued to rant. If he had places to be, why didn't he just go? He was making himself late for his work, not you. You wished you had the voice to call him a dumbass for his reasoning. 

If Nat was here, she would of already kicked his ass back to the ground. She really didn't like sexist people, and it surprised you how much she was willing to do to stop people from being that way. Every woman would of known the struggles of being compared to men, but maybe she took it harder than others? Or was it possibly, in the slightest chance, because the harmful words were directed at you? 

At some point the man had walked away in frustration, and you found yourself standing up. When did this happen? Was it just now, or had you been lost in thought. 

Maybe you would get yourself a watch, for time always had a way of sneaking by you. Yeah, you were going to get a watch. Not today, though. Today sucks, so you were going home.


	4. Chapter 4

The minute you walked through your front door, you kicked off your shoes and threw your jacket on the floor. Your stuff could wait till later to be cleaned up, and right now you really weren't feeling like doing anything productive. You changed out of the jeans you were wearing and in to a pair of sweatpants, then proceeded to lie down on your couch. Looking up at the dull grey ceiling, you saw things that you never bothered to notice before. The mysterious light brown stain that Nat had pointed out, the one you knew of but ignored, was a lot smaller than your originally thought. You wondered how she noticed that the first time she came over, seeing as it was not only on the ceiling, but the size of a mouse. 

Everything felt so foreign to you ever since she left, as if everything that was once yours became someone else's. You also noticed how foreign you seemed to yourself. Since when did you start caring about what was going on, none the less notice things that were going on? When did you start realizing things like you did, like how passive you were before everything. Did this change happen during your relationship, or was it just today? Today felt no different from every other, but it felt like you had awaken. As if you had been sleeping with your eyes open, but now your mind had finally awoken. Looking up at the ceiling, you would normally see a ceiling, but now you saw all the strokes of paint on it, the chips in the roof from the time you tossed a shoe at it, the odd brown stain, the rough texture. Had you noticed things like this before and Nat distracted you from it all? 

You mind whirled with all the strangeness of everything, and all the questions you would have never asked. You questioned the source of it all, but you had a feeling you knew what it was. 

The one and only Natasha Romanoff. 

All this time you thought that this was just a simple relationship, one you could throw away at any moment you pleased, the one you saw no different from any other. It looks like it was so much more than that. You thought she was a stone cold one, using you for some source of entertainment, but no matter how much you denied it, each reason to point against it lead straight to the fact. Natasha Romanoff cared. Probably the first one to.   
"Probably the last as well," You thought to yourself. 

You remembered the time you burnt your hand trying to cook, and how calmly Natasha reacted to it, simply taking your hand and running it under the soothing cool water. She wasn't freaking out, but neither were you. She wasn't the kind to freak out over anything, which lead you to believe this was protocol for her. But it wasn't. There wasn't even the simple ask if you were okay, all she did was help take care of your injury. You made yourself use this as a point of why she didn't care, but now you saw it. She didn't freak out not because she wasn't the type, but because she knew you didn't need to be fussed over. She didn't ask if you were okay because she knew you were okay. 

Maybe thats why she left. Because she believed you were going to be okay. Oh what a mistake she made. You weren't going to be okay. She never realized what she had done to you. 

She had made you fall in love with her, and now it was too late. 

Because Natasha Romanoff had left, knowing you didn't care.


	5. Chapter 5

You awoke to the sound of your alarm blasting that dreaded ring into your eats. Looking at the clock on your bedside table, it had read 6:30. Something in your mind clicked.  
Yesterday was Sunday, and now the dreaded monday comes along. Monday always meant work.   
You whined to nothing as you sat up, hair sticking up in different directions from the amount you moved in your sleep. Lurching out of bed, you walked over to your kitchen and brewed a hot cup of coffee. You opened the cupboard to find some sugar, and found none. Quickly you ran over to the fridge, opening it, and found that there was no cream. You had forgotten to go grocery shopping. Again. 

Natasha would always badger you about getting more food, or would often go shopping herself for you. You would need to learn to take care of yourself and this place if you ever wanted to move on. Finding a stray packet of sticky notes and a sharpie, you left a reminder for yourself on the corner of the fridge to grab some grub. 

You left the now cold coffee on the counter, and went to go have a shower. 

_

 

You could see the small bookstore across the street, and it was currently 8:00 sharp, meaning you were right on time. Walking into the store, you waved your hand to greet the old lady, who also happened to your boss.   
"Oh, y/n! Lovely morning to you darling, I have some books in the back I need you to shelve," She said with a smile, then added, "I would do it myself, but you know me and my old bones not doin' so well anymore."

Nodding your head in response, you made your way to the back room. As you located the box of books, you read the box names. How convenient that they were all books with a Russian base. Either the world really wanted you to remember Natasha, or Mrs. Rappel was buying useless books again. The lady was always buying the weirdest of books that no one would buy, yet some how the store hasn't been closed yet. Perhaps that why you were glad to work here, the lack of communication needed. 

Taking the box out the shelves, you opened it and grabbed a stack of books. While placing them, you studied the books, so you would know every book in this store inside out. So far you had around half the stores books in your head, having read a lot of them. TO the public, this is a book store, but to you its like your own personal library. Mrs. Rappel always lets you take some books home, given that you return them in the same condition they were in. Hey, you were a person with no social life and no stable internet connection, of course you would have time to read. 

Finishing up the sorting, you walked back to the front desk. Mrs. Rappel was sitting in one of the couches by the desk, reading what looked to be "The Sound And The Fury". You never knew why she had those couches, this was a library, not a lounge. She was always talking about a home feeling, but honestly all you could think of where all this money came from. Not that you were complaining, your pay was fair. Taking a glance at the front door and all the people passing by it, you knew you would be having any customers anytime soon, and sat down across her. 

You observed your boss and her once beautiful skin, and what looked to be the third edition of that book. Her hands were wrinkled but still smooth, and the simple gold band around her finger was still there. Her husband, whom you have met a couple of times, had recently passed away. With him gone its no wonder she clung to the store like it was her child. You knew they never had any kids, only each other. For someone who had lost her love she didn't seem too upset about it. Maybe she had already let go. 

"You know staring is rude, young lady," Mrs. Rappel said, looking up from her book, You felt your face flush with embarrassment, but didn't look away. You saw the humor that laid in her eyes.   
"So, where's the red head of yours?" She asked, looking around the store. "Is she visiting today?"  
You wanted to tell her about how she had just up and left, how and why she disappeared like she did, but all you said was a simple, "I don't think so."


	6. Chapter 6

Mrs. Rappel said she was going out for lunch, asking if you would like to join. You declined, not wanting to close the store just because you were a little hungry. Now you were leaning against the register desk, one of the books that were ordered in your hands. The title was "Metro 2033", written by one 'Dmitry Glukhovsky". From what you've read so far its post-apocalyptic, and takes place in the Moscow Metro. Would Natasha like this book, or perhaps has she already read it? You've never been to Russia, -the time you mentioned going for a trip there all she had done was laugh and say "never"- but of course Natasha was born and raised there, and maybe she would of found it too unrealistic or incorrect for her liking. All this Natasha talk was really killing your mood, especially because it just made you long for the time she was there. Where did she even go? No note, no nothing. Just up and gone. Can people even do that? Shouldn't there be some rule against it? You snorted at yourself for thinking that. _Rules? What am I, five?_

Instead of being all mopy, all you felt now was anger. Anger at how everything just seemed to be moving like nothing wrong, angry at how everyone acted like they were machines and incapable of human thoughts, angry at  _her._ You knew you were distant, but what gave her the right to just leave like that? How could she be so inconsiderate that you were human, not a mind reader, and you couldn't possibly know what she was thinking. You thought you were all fine and happy together, and she had a personal life and so did you, a personal life neither of you would interrupt. You never questioned where she went in the mornings, but you could guess now. Did she ever even love you? Maybe every morning she woke she saw you and cringed in disgust, maybe you weren't enough for poor Natasha Romanoff's petty needs. 

"Well screw you to!" You shouted as you chucked the book in the direction of the front door, which slided till it landed right in front of someones feet. Your eyes widened as you realized someone had entered the bookstore. He was fairly tall, with short but ruffled blonde hair. He wasn't wearing anything fancy, just a white t-shirt and some jeans, and... purple converse? You mentally shrugged to yourself,  _Purple's a cool colour... I guess_. 

You looked up to meet his eyes, expecting him to look at you like you were some wack-job, but instead you found humor. 

"The ending that bad?" He joked as he looked down at the book. You started blankly at him, you communication skills really failing you. He picked up the book, and walked over to you. You realized you were still staring at him, and quickly blinked and cleared your throat. 

"N-no, it wasn't the ending," You stuttered out, taking the book as he offered it back to you. "So, what brings you here?" You asked. 

He turned his head to look around, and replied, "Books, I suppose."  _duh._ You mentally face palmed, both at his plain answer and you asking the dumbest question ever. 

" _Noo_ , I thought you were just some Russian mob member coming to get your exclusive deal on books," You were quick to reply without even thinking what your words were.  _Shit_. Nat was the sole person you ever talked to, sarcastic comments and all. You assumed you just lost your first customer of the day, but then you heard him start laughing. 

"And here I thought you were some plain old book keeper, I knew I should of started with the pick up line," He replied as he flashed you a smile. You found yourself smiling back, his dumb charm seemingly lighting the pressure around your heart. There was a silence between you too, awkward air filling the space. You then realized it was your turn to talk. 

"Oh, right! Erm, so.." You said, trying to word yourself, "What 'books' are you looking for?" 

The man looked in the direction of shelves, then his face scrunched up, resembling one you often made yourself. He forgot what he was looking for. 

"We fudge," Blondie looked puzzled, "What was I looking for?" He asked as he turned to you, expecting you to know. 

"Don't as me! You're the one who walked in here," You stated, moving out from your your little boxed in area. "Do you have and general idea of what you were going to get? I pretty much know everything in this store, soo...." you drifted off, waiting for some reply.

"The books not even for me," He admitted, "My friend wanted me to pick something up for them, said the book would be coming into the store today and they couldn't get it."

Well, lets start finding, shall we?" You responded, grabbing the list of newly ordered books and walked ahead of the man to go hunting through the isles of shelves.

 

_

 

"Hey, thanks a lot for helping me, my friend would kill me if didn't get this for her," He said, relief filling his voice.

"No problem, it's kind of my job," You said,  waving him goodbye as he exited the store. The book he had gotten was on the "secrets" of Russia, basically a book about all the stereotypes and conspiracies on Russia. His friend must of been into some really weird shit. A few minutes after his departure, Mrs. Rappel had returned, and you two were back to re-cleaning and organizing the store. You didn't mention the customer, figuring she would see the receipt anyways. Also you were to lazy to recall the story of your encounter. 


	7. Chapter 7

Tossing and rolling around in your bed, you heaved out a sigh. No matter what you tried, you couldn't get comfortable. It seemed with every day passing her leave, sleep became harder and harder to get. 

Rolling over for the last time, you looked towards the clock sitting on your bedside table.   
 _2:30 am_  
  
You laid down to rest at 11 in hopes of getting more sleep than you were already getting, but that just wasn't going to happen. Getting off the bed, you changed out of your pyjamas and into some more presentable. With one last glance at the clock, you grabbed your phone and wallet and left your apartment. You had no idea where you were going, or where there even was to go. What kind of place is open at two in the morning?

You settled on just strolling down the street, looking at the world around you. The countless apartment crowding the city, the busy city seemed to be taking a break tonight, for not even the sound of an ambulance could be heard. This was what you needed, just a night walk through the city to clear your head and think about nothing that would bother you. It seemed as if the night eased the weight that you felt building upon your shoulders. Taking a look up at the sky as you marched on, you were surprised to even see stars, something that wasn't seen often with the cloud of smoke always present in the air. 

After walking for an hour or so, your body seemed to have taken you somewhere you weren't expecting to be. The local bar. You weren't much of a drinker, but didn't mind it once in a while. 

_Ah fuck it._

You opened the bar and was greeted by the strong scent of liquor and faint cigarettes. It wasn't some slum bar like you would expect, but a peaceful one. There weren't any old men gazing at rather 'open' young ladies, but a couple respectable people just having an enjoyable time. The one place you expected to be at worst in this city was probably the best. Going up to the bar, you looked at the wide variety of drinks to chose from. All these drinks had quite bizarre names and no description what so ever.   
"What the hell is a 'pink lady'?" You muttered to yourself in confusion.

"Its a kind of martini," A voice next to you replied. You flinched in surprise at the newcomer, which led you to slamming your elbow on the table. After letting out a string of curses, you looked towards Mr. Stranger who had decided to come up to you. It was that man from the bookstore, still wearing what he had worn when you last saw him. Which was yesterday.  _"Must not have gone home yet,"_ you thought to yourself. Realizing this would probably lead to another awkward conversation, you tried to remember what his name was. Did he even give you a name?

The man had let out a chuckle as you injured your elbow, and propped one of his own to lean against the bar. "Nice seeing you again. What brings you to a bar at-" the man had paused, looking around for something to tell the time with. Unsuccessfully finding some way to tell the time, he had just left the sentence at that and flashed you a cheese smile as to say, 'I don't know what time it is'. 

For once this conversation didn't seem like you needed to stress and think about your next words, and instead just go with it. "As to you, I couldn't sleep so I just came here," You replied honestly. 

"Sounds legit," The man had shrugged, then made a face of realization. "I didn't give you my name yet, did I? Well shit. Barton. Clint Barton," He held out a hand for you to shake. 

" y/n," you responded as you shook his hand, 'Nice to formally meet."

'Clint' took his hand back as he waved the attention of the bar attender. "Hope you don't mind whisky," he said to you before he spoke to the man. "I'll take two pints of whisky!" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feedback on my dreaded writing is always appreciated!


	8. Chapter 8

You thanked the server for the fifth (sixth?) time, as he came by with the next round of drinks. Your speech had started to become noticeably slurred from intoxication. God, how many drinks had you two been through?

Turning your attention back to the man beside you, you found yourselves giggling at each other. You two probably looked absolutely ridiculous, but you were way to drunk to care. Clint gazed into your eyes, a dumb smile plastered on his face.

"Hey... did youu know, that your eyes aree," His words stumbled as he tried to finish the sentence.   
"Areeee?" you questioned, smile large on your face as you taunted his lack of words.   
Clint seemed stunned for a second, almost as if someone paused him like a movie. His stillness didn't last for long as he soon started laughing again then exclaimed, "Awesommee!". 

You almost fell out of your chair in a fit of chuckles, your sides starting to hurt from all the laughing. Sitting back up, you took another swig from your drink before replying, "Bartooooon, are you flirting with me?" 

His stupid smile was still stuck on his face as he shook his head in response, before he broke out into laughter again as he said, "maybe."   
"Well thank you kind sir," You responded, grasping your glass and tipping your head in a gentleman like manner. "May I say that your eyes, are also awesmazing."

This only made him laugh more before he decided to chug the rest of his drink, signally to the bartender for another. "Soo Clint, whats with that book you bought?" You asked, poking his arm to catch his adrift attention. He looked confused for a second, not remembering any book. A light flashed in his eyes as he realized, vocalizing the "ohhhh!" as he recalled what it was.   
"Just something a friend of mine wanted," He replied as he picked up his newly poured drink, observing it for a second before bringing it up to his lips. After gulping it down and wiping his mouth on the bottom of his shirt (Who taught him manners?) he added, "You know, Russians and their freaking choice of books."

You nodded along. In your drunken state you couldn't seem to control the words flowing out of your mouth as you instantly replied; "I know what you mean, I once dated a Russian."   
He snorted, then dramatically cried out, "You'll date a Russian but not me??" His comment caught the attention of a few collage kids in the back, but as soon as they saw the state he was in resumed whatever they were doing.   
Smacking him on the arm you replied, "You never asked me out in the first place!"   
"Oh yeah..." he chucked, embarrassment spelt all over his face.   
"Bessiddess, that 'Russian' was a girl, dumbass," you pointed out, unaware of your queer confession. 

Clint's mouth formed the shape of an 'o', before it turned into a mischievous smirk. "Soo, you did lez stuff with a female Russian, that must of been funnn."

Your eyes widened in surprise as you caught what he was saying, a blush beginning to form on your face. "Shut up you perv!" you exclaimed as you pretended to slap him. "Hey- ow!" He pretended to yelp in pain. "I was only joking!"   
"Well don't next time," you mumbled into your drink, trying not to show your displeasure at the memories of her. Clint seemed oblivious to your mood as he continued to question you.   
"Soo, where did this certain russian go? You guys break up?"   
"How the hell am I suppose to know?" You suddenly shout with a flail of your arms, "She just got up one morning and walked out!" His eyebrows raised at your outburst, seeing the drunken-happiness you had turned to anger.   
"Damn, that's one cold chick." You let out a sigh as you downed the rest of your whisky.  
"Honestly I should of seen it coming. Tasha's been leaving earlier and earlier every morning, of course she'd eventually just up and go," You gestured with your arms.

Clint's smile faded off his face after hearing the Russian's name being spoken. His intoxicated quickly faded as he pieced together who you were talking about, and finally recognized who you were. You didn't seem to notice his change in mood as you went back to your dazed mindset, going completely off topic and commenting about the bar's choice of colours. He took another drink, his mind staying alert throughout the rest of the alcohol filled night.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bar scene: Clints POV

"C'mon, Tasha, please pick up," He whined into his phone, hearing it going to voice mail for the third time. Letting out a sigh of annoyance, he slid his phone across his kitchen table. He ran his hands through his hair, not knowing what else to do.  
"Damnit, why do I always get the sucky situations?" Getting up from the stool he was sitting in, he walked over to the living room and tossed himself onto the couch. As he surfed through the channels on the T.V., he heard a familiar clicking on the floor.  
"Hey, buddy. C'mere," Clint smiled as Lucky (his /not really his/ dog) walked over to him. Taking his greeting as in invitation, Lucky jumped on the couch and laid down on Clint. Letting out a huff as the dog began to crush his chest, he began to scratch the dogs ears.  
"Y'know, your real _lucky_ to be a dog," He laughed at his own joke. "Not having to deal with women. Especially when they're dating each other." Clint simply accepted as the dog began to lick his face in response.  
He was around an hour in to 'I, Robot' when he heard his phone ringing. "Awww," He muttered as he looked over to his cellphone, which was across the apartment room. He looked to see the dog deeply asleep, pining him down to the couch. He slowly began to shift his weight off the couch; careful not to wake Lucky. As soon as he was near the edge, he shifted one more time only to fall onto the ground. Letting out another groan, he pulled himself up and walked over to the phone.

"Y'ello?" He asked, holding the cell to his ear.  
"You called. Three times. What is it?" Natasha's cold voice hissed into his ear.  
"Heh," He chuckled, scratching the back of his head, "I needed to talk to you about something."  
"Can this wait? I'm in the middle of something."  
"Middle of what? I saw your schedule, it's empty," Clint replied, eyebrows furrowing.  
"Its personal," She replied, "Did your calls have some purpose or did you just need someone other than that dog to talk to?"  
"No, no. Yeah, I- Tasha," He paused, trying to find words, "I came across your old girlfriend."  
The line went silent for a minute. "What about her?" Her voice was flat, but Clint knew that she was trying to hide her emotions.  
"Tasha, she doesn't look so good. I mean, yeah, she's doing fine; but she doesn't seem to be doing so well."  
"Well then she'll have to get over it. Clint, I really fail to see why a girl I broke up with concerns you-"  
"Cut the crap, she told me you never broke up with her. Just up and left. I know you, and this isn't something you would do-"  
"How the hell do you know what I would do? Its my personal life, not yours," She quickly snapped.  
"You left her, not a word, not a note; just nothing. If this was anyone else you would of flat up told her you were done and left; but here you didn't. You don't want her to forget you."  
"Clint, please."  
"Natasha."  
"Listen, this is complicated-"  
"Then make it so its not!"  
"I can't," She whispered. "The last time I let someone in they got killed; used against me. I'm not making the mistake of that happening again."  
"You let me in."  
"Well, thats different. You're like an idiot who can never die, and too persistent on that note. No matter what I try I can't get rid of you." Clint felt a smile creep onto his face. "I know I made a mistake; I shouldn't of even tried for a relationship, so Clint, just let it be so it can fade away."  
"BS man. This isn't just gonna fly away; you've spun your web and now you're leaving a fly on that web."  
"That was a pretty shitty analogy," She commented.  
"Please, just come and talk to her. Even if you're going to break up; do it right at least. You can't just run away, I know your hurting as well."  
"I'll think about it."

Then the line went silent.  
"I stand by my point; you," He pointed to the awoken dog, "Are lucky to be a dog."


	10. Chapter 10

Waking up, you wondered what the hell had hit you in the head last night. There was a terrible pressure, as if someone had just laid a hundred pound brick on your forehead. The wave of nausea that flooded through you answered the question. Your head was screaming at you not to get up, but your stomach said other wise. You jolted out of bed in a flash and hit the toilet. It seemed like an awkward time to recall everything that had happened last night, but nonetheless you did. 

Properly meeting Clint Barton at a bar ended up with one to many drinks and and out of control you. You wish you were the kind who control themselves when they were drunk, but the amount of embarrassing things you said last night; things you didn't even think of before and- 

Shit.

Natasha. 

While a sadness lingered with you, the overpowering need to vomit interrupted your depressing mood. 

 

_

 

After taking a hot shower to drain out the alcohol levels in your body, you slumped over into the couch. You felt yourself getting angry, slowly beginning to scream the word 'shit' over and over again; pounding your fists into the poor coffee table.   
"Fuck you, Natasha Romanoff!" You bursted upright, leaving a dent in the table's leg as you kicked it. 

Last night, you went out in hopes of just relaxing. Even drunk Natasha Romanoff had plagued your mind, she and all her undoing upon you. You were just spilling your life story about her to Clint (the poor soul), someone you were trying desperately to get over. She was just another woman, not a master in control of your life. You weren't even certain where the anger tied into all of this. Did you love her? Sure, she always understood you. Do you still? That was debatable. You didn't feel like anything was missing in your life, but things just felt out of place. How could someone so insignificant leave a gaping whole where she left?

Maybe it was all these nagging questions about her that sparked your flame. Over and over throughout the week; even when you didn't think about her, she always ended up in your mind. Letting out one last scream to dump the fuel, you got ready for work. 

 

-

 

Walking into the old bookstore, you saw a familiar face chatting up Mrs. Rappel.   
"Yo nice of you to drop by!" Clint cheered, a smile on his face as he raised his arms. Mrs. Rappel beside him let out a laugh as she looked back down to the binder on the desk. Your previous foul mood was quickly dispersed as his smile became contagious.   
"I work here, you idiot," you grinned. What was he doing here? You had only know him for like what, a day? Why was he acting as if you were best friends? More importantly, why were you going along with it? "What are you doing here anyways?" 

"You left your jacket at the bar, thought I'd come by and give it to you before I forgot," He replied, starting to look awkward. "About last night,"   
You almost rolled your eyes at his words, of course he was going to bring up last night.   
"That girl; don't get me wrong, she sounds like a total douchebag, but have you tried contacting her?" 

You stood there standing for a bit, Mrs. Rappel looking at you with a raised eyebrow, but soon made her way into the back room to give you both space. Your eyes seemed to vert themselves from his, a feeling of pressure starting to grow on you.   
"She.." you started, not knowing how to process how you were feeling. "She's the one who left. Not me. Besides, I don't want to look desparate or some shit." 

Clint only returned you words with a look of mixed emotions. You didn't bother to dwell on whatever he was feeling; it wasn't as if he knew a damn about it other than what you told him.   
"Just forget about what I said, alright? Just got a bit tipsy," you walked past him, giving him a fait punch on the shoulder. You hoped that would drop the tension that seemed to clog the air, but it didn't. 

His face looked unimpressed now, but it didn't seemed to be directed towards you. Standing behind the front desk, you looked down upon the filed Mrs. Rappel was woking on.   
"So, you said you had my jacket?" You questioned, looking back up at him, who was still where he was last.   
"Right," He suddenly exclaimed, grabbing it off the chair and tossing it to you. A couple minutes later, he hadn't exited the shop. Now you were feeling a bit persecuted. "Erm... don't you have some place to be? Like work?" 

Clint's spontaneous mood was light as he plopped himself down onto the reading couch. "My works not strict to days," He replied, drumming his hands against the fabric. "I guess you could say I'm on a break." 

You simply nodded your head along to his words, the numbers on the paper engulfing you. "Well I do have work, so if you're gonna stick around, try to be quiet."

-

 

Your concentration was broken as a loud buzzing filled your ears. Your head shot up to look at Clint. "You mind?"

His hands were in the air, "Don't look at me! Wasn't mine," he then pulled out his phone to prove it. You looked to your left, not realizing that it was your phone. A light blush rose to your cheeks in embarrassment. "Sorry," you responded, shoulders tensing.

Unlocking your phone, you saw someone had texted you. 

Natasha Romanoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having never been involved deeply with a relationship I don't know what im doing XP. Please go ahead and comment or tell me what you think (I stg I will get around to editing those horrid first chapters)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I really should schedule when I'm going to updates, but taking several language classes at once really don't make a lot of time of this kind of stuff.

You found yourself staring at the notification message still on the screen of your phone. Natasha had texted you. This wasn't just some stray text you get once in a while, she was actually communicating with you. God, what could she want? Horrors ran through your head of what she could of sent, and you actually found yourself frightened. What if she was texting a goodbye? A tremor ran through you at the thought; but weren't you suppose to be getting over her? She was the one who had left you, this break up should come as a relief. But no, no this just seemed so wrong. You didn't feel any relief at the idea like you once thought you would, you were terrified. You didn't want to let go of her; even with her already gone. 

Or maybe it wasn't a break up. Maybe she was texting you saying that she was coming home, that she was sorry for leaving without a word, that it was an emergency. Oh lord knows it wouldn't be. Why would she want to come back? You weren't anything she couldn't get somewhere else; hell, she could do a lot better. Besides, you didn't even try to contact her before hand. She probably just assumed you didn't care, but if so, why was she texting you now? Maybe she forgot something at the apartment and was coming to collect it. Maybe she just texted the wrong number. Maybe someone els- 

"Erm.. you okay?" Clint's voice snapped you back into reality, the close proximity causing you to jump back and slam into the wall. The phone slipped out of your hand, falling flat into the floor.

"Jesus Christ Barton!" You shrieked, letting out a couple deep breaths to calm your racing heart. "Shit sorry, sorry!" He exclaimed, taking a couple steps back, "You kind of zoned out there and..." his voice drifted off as you leaned over to grab your phone. Perfect, on top of relationship anxiety, your phone now had a jagged crack running across it. 

"Sorry," he repeated, looking guiltily at the broken phone. You didn't even respond as you furiously started smashing buttons on the device. 

"Oh that god!" You voice shaken with relief as the screen lit up, signalling that it wasn't completely broken. You switched from a squat to sitting; leaning your back against the wall. A nauseous feeling suddenly took over as all the emotions you didn't know you were feeling exploded within you.

_God, if you hand broken that phone-_

_That text could ruin your lif-_

_Maybe she's coming ho-_

_What if something happened?_

_God you're such a asshole, completely neglecting your inured girlf-_

_What if its just another ploy? Who knows what she's capable of-_

_She never cared to begin wit-_

"Y/N? Yo, just chill. Its alright," Clint said, sitting down next to you. His eyebrows creased at your non-responsive state. "What's going on?"

Finally looking over, Barton found it hard to read the mangle of feelings written on your face.

"I got a text from her." Of course, that really did sound like the dumbest thing anyone could say. Having this whole freak out over a text? You completely expected him to just burst into laughter and call you over dramatic or something; but instead was surprised to see a soft look on his face.

"Did you read it yet?" He questioned, looked down at the cracked phone in your hands. 

"I don't think I want to," You responded, trying to not let the concern bleed through your voice.

"You're never going to ease whatever it is your feeling unless you do." 

You let out a shaky breath, tears already threatening to slip through from the stress. Mumbling out a single 'okay', you opened up your messages. Clicking on the small picture of her, a faint memory began to come back. That picture was from your fourth date, when she had taken you to one of those really fancy restaurants. You remember the frustration of what to wear, how to do your make up, the self-consciousness that always plagued your mind. She always looked beautiful, every inch of her body screaming perfection; and here you were, someone average. She never missed a beat in reassuring that you looked amazing, that you were worth a lot more than you credited yourself for. 

God, you didn't want to let that go. 

You hadn't realized you closed your eyes until they were open again, scanning over the simple sentence sent to you. 

_"I'm home."_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh ho ho I have no idea what I'm doing :D. This story seems to be coming to an end soon, but who knows with the next chapter ;).


	12. Chapter 12

Your mind seemed to go numb, entire body clicking on auto pilot as your eyes scanned over the two words. Without even thinking it, you shouted to Mrs. Rappel in the back room that you were taking a break as your legs carried you out teh door. You only stopped running as you slammed into another person. Wait. Since when did you start running?  
"The fucks the matter with you?" the person shouted, stumbling to get back up. You didn't stop to help- couldn't stop. Your feet were already pouncing away before you could mutter out an apology.  
"Asher, wait u- frick!" you faintly caught on to Barton's voice before it turned into a screech. You didn't need to turn around to know he had tripped over the already fallen person.

God, were you going to make it on time? What if she was just taunting you? Patronizing you? Would she be the kind of person to do that? Or.. god, what if she had already left? You didn't even send back a text. You wanted to scream at yourself, but it seemed your lungs didn't want to- being so busy pumping oxygen into your body as you let out rapid breaths.

You nearly slammed into the front door of your apartment, coming to a skidding halt. You stopped there, standing right in front of the door. Were you getting you hopes up to much? If she saw you like this, all covered in sweat, would she think you were desperate? Should you even bother going inside? God, what the hell were you suppose to do? This could very well mean goodbye to the one thing you've learned to tolerate. Your mind was just yelling an incomprehensible amount of swear words, unable to latch onto a straight thought once again. Fuck, if you left right now, it would still be a goodbye. How would that be better? Great, she wouldn't leave seeing you as a sobbing mess. What kind of benefit is that?

Fuck it.

You pulled your keys out of your bag, hand slipping a few times before you got it into the lock. Unaware, you threw the door open, letting out a crack sound as it collided with the outside wall. Letting out a ragged breath, you jumped the stairs two at a time until you found yourself outside you apartment door.

One door.

That was all that separated you from the red haired woman.

God, what were you even suppose to say? 'Whats up?'. Why were you so unprepared all the time? She managed to do everything flawlessly, yet here you were probably about the fuck up the one relationship you wanted to keep. 

No, no more of this self-piting bs. 

Grabbing onto the doorknob, you mentally cursed at yourself as your voice weakly fumbled out a faint, "Nat?". 

"Nat?" You repeated again, making sure you voice was stronger. You tried to slower you pace as you walked into the apartment, eyes scanning for a sign of red. There was still no answer. You were about to let out a sigh of disappointment before you heard the sound of a bag zipping coming from your bedroom. You eyes dilated as an impossible form stood in your room. 

"Hey," That was it. Just a simple 'hey'. Not even the slightest notion of regret or sadness or even hate. It was just 'hey'. How the hell were you suppose to respond to that? You were feeling so much overwhelming bullshit that no matter how hard you tried, never bothered to go away, and yet here she stood; no change whatsoever. You didn't even bother to speak, your senses seemingly coming back to you as you realized what all this meant. Your answer was a take or break for this relationship. If you outburst and overreacted, you'd be showing how attached you were; an unspoken attribute both of you never held to one another, but a simple greeting back might show that you were done, that you held nothing for her anymore.

She simply looked at you, lips curled into an everlasting smile, eyes unwavering and unwilling to reveal what she expected out of you. She knew what she wanted; she was testing you. Maybe thats why she left. For some sick game.

You pulled your eyes away from her emerald gaze, looking over to the bags over the floor. "You're back."

Her face betrayed nothing as you spoke these words, and then there was silence once again. You were being so conscientious of your words, filtering through all the question berating your head. Why did she leave? Where did she go? Why did she come back? Is she staying?

"I didn't think I'd need to buy enough food for two tonight," You glanced at her, wondering to yourself if the flicker you saw was the lighting or if you missed something beautiful again.

"We can go out and eat," she replied. Neither of you had moved from your position within the room, but the air felt almost suffocating, like a snake trying to constrict your last breath around you, pulling everything closer than it should be.

You bit your lip, knowing what you want to say next. Have to say next. This was it. "Are we? Don't you just want to order something and stay in?"

You defiantly saw it. The break in her character, the flash in her eyes telling you that she understood what you were asking. What you needed to know. "I think you should decide. I'm fine with either."

You wanted to let out a frustrated sigh, scream in her face that she can get out but also hold on to her for dear life, never wanting to let go but to also shove her out the door.

"I don't want to play these games anymore."

She let out a chuckle before backing up to lean against the table beside the bed. "Love is a game. Child's play, really. So, order in or go out?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terribly sorry everyone. I really don't know how to go forward with this, so I might just leave it or delete it.


End file.
